Soarers Choice (64 page)

Dainyl
had an idea, but whether it would work was another question. That was what he
needed to find out.

Finally,
he stood, leaving the platter that had held a casual meal of bread, cheese, and
cold sliced ham on the table. He checked the charges in the two holstered
lightcutters, then donned the green jacket and walked out of the study and down
the corridor to the Table chamber.

Diordyn
was sitting on a stool between two guards. The other two guards stood on the
far side of the Table. All watched the Table. Against the inner wall, Dainyl
saw a small bundle of folded clothes, and a set of delicate shoes.

“Highest?
To Dereka?” asked Diordyn.

“I’m
going to test some things.” Dainyl stepped onto the Table, concentrating on the
blackness beneath the purple of the translation tube.

He
slipped into the purple-shaded twilight of the translation tube, letting his
Talent-sense range beyond the tube itself, even deeper. After a moment, he
focused on dropping into the greenish blackness beneath the tube.

There
was an instant flash of green, and he was beneath the translation tube. He
could sense, not just the single “line” of the translation tube above him, but
also a web of interconnected blackish green with points of brilliant
amber-green. He was both within that web and yet able to view it from without.

One
of the blackish green points seemed not too “far” from the amber locator of
Hyalt. Dainyl extended a Talent probe, but one sheathed in green. This time, he
was aware of his own motion, rather than feeling that the destination
approached him. He came to a halt with the silver-green above him, not breaking
or flashing through a barrier.

Did
he have to concentrate on leaving, in a fashion similar to what he did when
entering a Table ?

Carefully,
he visualized rising through soil or rock or what might be there. He could feel
himself moving upward, and darkness — the true darkness of night — rising
around him.

But
he was still somehow linked to the blackish green web. He looked down, abruptly
aware that he could see with both eyes and Talent, and saw that the lower part
of his trousers and his boots were “buried” in red stone. He concentrated on
moving upward.

Suddenly,
Dainyl stood on a rocky uneven surface, and a cool wind blew around him. He had
to take a quick step sideways to avoid falling. He was perched on a large chunk
of sandy rock. Carefully, he eased himself off the rock and onto the narrow
ground between two boulders that were parts of a rocky jumble.

Where
was he?

He
glanced up, but clouds covered most of the night sky, although he caught a
quick glimpse of the green disc of Asterta before the smaller moon was covered
by a fast-moving cloud. He looked to his right, down a long slope toward a
ruined compound of some sort, and the town beyond. It was familiar ... Hyalt!

He
took a deep breath, even as he turned to the west, where he could barely sense
the RA’s complex, still being repaired and rebuilt.

He’d
done it. Once, at least.

He’d
also learned that the ancients’ web allowed more freedom in exiting, but there
was also the problem of figuring out where he was headed before he got there.

He
felt a drop of rain on the back of his neck, and to the south, lightning
flashed, and a rumble of thunder followed.

He
didn’t sense a green point or locator, but he could sense the darkness beneath
the ground. Could he link to the blackish green web from where he stood? He
might as well try. Dainyl concentrated once more, thinking about the blackness
beneath.

Nothing
happened, except that several more drops of rain pattered down around him.

Would
a more direct Talent link work?

He
extended a link, trying to emphasize the green, but the blackish green of the
web eluded his probe.

A
few more raindrops pattered down, several striking his hands and head, and
another bolt of lightning flared to the south, followed by a long rumbling roar
of thunder.

It
had to be possible, because he’d seen the ancients vanish. But how?

Dainyl
attempted to meld a focus on the dark green web with a more diffuse, almost
misty green linkage ...

...
and he found himself connected to the web and sinking through the sandstone and
soil, his vision being cut off and replaced solely by Talent perception.

This
time he attempted to create a mental “map” of the locator wedges “above” him
with the interlocking web that he could sense fully, even while being within
one of the “strands.” Immediately, he noted that every locator wedge was
situated above a point where three or more of the web strands — although they
were far wider than strands — connected. Ley nodes — that was what ley nodes
were.

He
located the sullen red wedge that was Soupat, but concentrated on the green
node closest to that. Once more, he felt himself moving along the ley lines,
until he reached the node.

Deliberately
and gently, he eased himself from the node upward.

He
emerged beside a pile of rocks. He glanced around, trying to orient himself. He
was to the east of a fallen building on the low mesa that had held the RA’s
complex in Soupat.

“The
ancients! Run! Run, if you value your life!”

A
spade — or some other implement — clattered against stone, and the sound of
boots on stone faded away in the damp night air.

Dainyl
could sense that there had been two men. His eyes and Talent revealed an
opening in the half-collapsed stone wall to his right.

Scavengers
— looking for whatever they could find in the ruins.

He
laughed softly.

Overhead,
the sky was clear. The rain that had begun to fall in Hyalt had long since left
Soupat, and both Selena and Asterta shone down on Dainyl.

Dainyl
Talent-sensed the blackish green of the web below and concentrated on
replicating his early effort of melding focus and diffuse linkage.

Even
more easily, he dropped into the web below.

He
started to orient himself for the return to Elcien when he became aware of a
growing sense of amber-green surrounding him — and what he could only have
described as pressure. It could only be the ancients.

Should
he resist? He decided against resistance, although he could not have explained
why, and let himself follow the pressure toward another ley node, one of a
handful that showed a golden green.

He
emerged in a chamber that was walled in amber-green stone — it had to be in one
of the towers on the plateau, because he could feel his breathing was more
labored, and the air was almost frigid.

Hovering
before him were three of the ancients — all looking like winged miniatures of
lander women.

You
do not belong traveling the web — not as you are. It will hurt you more than
you can imagine.

Hurt
him? By making him more “green” or in some other way?

The
conflict between what you were and what you will be can destroy you.

“You’re
saying that I’ll change whether I wish it or not.”

Actions
change one. Desires in conflict with actions make such change difficult.
Sometimes that conflict can also kill.

Dainyl
realized he could not sense which of the ancient soarers “spoke.”

“I
need the web. If I do not use it, you will suffer as much as everyone.”

The
response was not comprehensible.

“One
of my ... kind ... wishes to start a war, one that will expend lifeforce that
will weaken the entire world. Without the web, I cannot stop this.”

Do
what you think you must, but you have been warned. Go. Behind the words was a link-reminder,
or something similar, that called up an image of the massive concentration of
humming green Talent/lifeforce. There was also a sense of indifference to his
warning that accompanied the implied threat of the concentrated green
lifeforce. Go.

Dainyl
decided that further “discussion” was definitely unwise. For the third time, he
melded focus and diffuse linkage and...

...
found himself back in the blackish green web. He concentrated, this time on the
white locator for Elcien and found himself sliding into the translation tube.

For
the first time ever, within a tube, he could sense his own motion, and not the
illusion of the locator moving to him. There was no barrier, not even the
faintest hint of silver-white ...

...
as he appeared on the Table.

One
of the guards fired his lightcutter, then a second.

Using
his shields, Dainyl deflected the bluish beams, almost absently.

“Stop!
It’s the Highest.”

Belatedly,
Dainyl could sense the greenish aura around himself, strong enough that it was
visible to eyes as well as Talent-senses.

“Sir?”
Diordyn swallowed as he looked at Dainyl.

“Some
strange things are going on between Tables,” Dainyl said tiredly, trying to
defuse the concerns of the assistant to the recorder. “They’re not going to get
better soon, either.” He straightened. “It doesn’t help when you shoot at
someone who’s trying to solve the problems.”

“I
thought... you were going to Dereka ...” stammered Diordyn.

“It
doesn’t matter what you thought,” Dainyl replied tartly. “It matters what you
do.” The sudden realization of the inadvertent irony of his words, echoing what
the ancients had said to him, took away the
e.g.
of
his anger at being a target. He focused on Diordyn. “Dereka is going to have to
wait. Tell Chastyl — or leave word with him — that I’ll need to talk to him.”

“Ah
... yes, sir.”

As
Dainyl left the Table chamber, not only could he sense the continued shock
within Diordyn, but he could hear the murmurs from the guards. “... green ...”

“...
lightcutter like it wasn’t there ...”

“...
why he’s the Highest...”

After
he left the Hall of Justice, Dainyl took the coach back to his dwelling. He
wasn’t about to use the Table to travel to Dereka. Had he done so, Lystrana
would have immediately discerned what he had in mind — and both she and Kytrana
would have been mightily disturbed at the increasing amount of green that
permeated his Talent.

He
stiffened on the bench seat of the coach. The attitude of the ancients gnawed
at him. He’d tried to point out the dangers of lifeforce loss, and the three
ancients had clearly dismissed the threat as trivial. Trivial? What were they
doing that made lightcannon trivial?

He
couldn’t help shivering, but it was just the result of a long and tiring day,
and the chill of a night in early winter, wasn’t it?

Dainyl
did not sleep well, but forced himself to eat a hearty breakfast before he left
for the Hall of Justice in the coach that he had arranged for the night before.
He wore the green jacket over his official garments and carried four
lightcutters, two in holsters at his belt, and two tucked inside his jacket. He
still worried about the ancients’ diffidence toward him, as well as about their
casually chilling warning — and the fact that the green aspect of his Talent
had faded not in the slightest overnight.

At
the same time, he knew he had to do something about the deteriorating situation
facing him — and all of Acorus. He’d focused too closely on Brekylt and those
who followed him, assuming that Brekylt had merely wished to become Duarch of
the East. That might have been acceptable, had Brekylt limited his efforts to
less devastating weapons. The fact that he had not, and that neither Samist nor
Khelaryt had reacted, could only mean that Samist was truly behind Brekylt and
that Khelaryt felt powerless against the two.

Even
if Brekylt were not the principal cause of the deterioration, after what Dainyl
had seen at Soupat, with the depletion of lifeforce by the heavier lightcannon,
and the widespread distribution and use of such weapons by Brekylt and his
allies, Dainyl had to do something. He was in no position to attack Samist or
Ruvryn, but at the least he could deal with Brekylt and reduce the lifeforce
depletion.

Not
only did he truly fear for the future of Acorus, both for himself and Lystrana,
and especially for their daughter, but he felt as though he might be about the
only one who fully understood what the use of lightcannon truly meant.

Early
as it was — a good half glass before morning muster at Myrmidon headquarters —
the corridors and studies beneath the Hall of Justice were empty, except for
Adya’s study.

Dainyl
peered in at his chief assistant. “Good morning, Adya. Any messages?”

Adya
stared at him for a moment, then shook her head quickly. “No, Highest.”

“I’ll
be gone for a time.” With that, he headed down the corridor toward the Table
chamber.

Dainyl
had barely stepped out of the entry foyer when Chastyl stepped forward.
“Highest.”

“Good
morning, Chastyl. Did you get my message?”

“Just
that you wished to talk to me.”

“Something
is happening between the Tables.”

“The
energy fluctuations — “

“No.
There’s some sort of green Talent. It’s irregular, but it’s there. The ancients
are massing forces, somehow.” Dainyl laughed ruefully, extended his left arm,
and looked at it. “I should know.”

“I
don’t know what we can do ...”

“I
don’t either, but I’d like you to get word to Myenfel and Sulerya. I’ll let
Jonyst know.”

Chastyl
moistened his lips. “Is using the Tables wise ... after yesterday, sir?”

“Wise?
No. Necessary, yes.” Dainyl eased past the recorder and the guards and stepped
up onto the Table.

He
cleared his mind and used the melding-focus technique. After a moment, he
slipped downward and ...

...
through the purpleness of the translation tube into the blackish green of the
web beneath. With the complexity of the web, Dainyl felt it took longer to find
both the dark gray of the Alustre locator and then the ley node that
corresponded to it.